


Anil

by sweetasscas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetasscas/pseuds/sweetasscas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas begins molting, and can't deal with it on his own. Sam offers to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anil

**Author's Note:**

> A million years ago, in an obvious bid to inflate my follower numbers, I offered to write a 1k word fic for my 666th follower. [weepingangel222](http://weepingangel222.tumblr.com/) won and sent me a prompt. I hope I've done it justice.
> 
> This is set in some imaginary time where Cas has his grace but Metatron has the demon tablet, where Dean doesn't have the Mark of Cain but The Darkness isn't the big bad. Early Season 11? Late Season 11, as we can only imagine it? Who knows. You tell me.
> 
> Also, as it will become abundantly clear to anyone who knows anything, I have no clue what happens when a bird molts. Google can only tell you so much. My apologies to bird owners and holders of general bird knowledge. I tried to be as accurate as possible.

"You telling me I have to wait another week to kill the thing?"

"I'm sure it's horrible, hanging out with Jody and the girls a few more days."

"Did I tell you she made me pie? Fresh peaches, man." Sam can practically hear his brother salivating. "But that's not the point. This was supposed to be a quick salt and burn, not a two week vacation. As much as I love 'em, I've got shit to do."

"No, you don't," Sam says with a laugh. "Besides, it's not like Cas and I can't handle anything that comes up. Enjoy your pie. When the full moon rises, stab the thing in the face and come home."

"Yeah, okay. Fine. I'll bring you and Cas some leftovers."

"You better. Say hi to the girls for us."

"Will do. Bye Sammy."

Sam ends the call as Cas steps into the room. "You were right - he wasn't happy about the wait."

Cas shrugs a shoulder. "It can't be helped. The spell is very specific." He sits across the table from Sam, then shifts, curling over the book in front of him.

Sam turns back to his laptop, jotting down notes on the locator spell Dean will need. He doesn't notice Cas shifting uncomfortably until he looks up to ask a question.

"Hey, do we have any Devil’s shoestring left in the storeroom?"

"No." Cas doesn't look up. He fidgets with the book, picking at a worn spot in the binding.

Sam raises an eyebrow but keeps his comments to himself. A few minutes of silence follow, and then Cas abruptly stands.

"I'm going out," he declares, and disappears.

"Okay," Sam says, drawing out the word. He makes a mental note to check on Cas later and turns back to his research.

***

He's standing at the kitchen counter the next morning, eating cereal while he waits for the coffee pot to fill, when Cas shuffles in.

"Hey, man. Where'd you take off to last night?"

"Out." Cas doesn't look at him. He pulls a mug out of the cupboard instead.

"Um," Sam says to fill the awkward silence. "Well, while you were gone, I translated the rest of the spell and made a list of stuff we don't have. I thought you maybe could..."

Castiel looks at him finally, eyebrow cocked as if daring him to finish his sentence.

"Cas, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He yanks the carafe from the machine and dumps coffee into his mug. Sam reaches for it just as Cas slams it back onto the hotplate. Scalding coffee and glass go everywhere.

"Shit," Cas murmurs, plastic carafe handle still clutched in his fist.

"Yeah, you're totally fine."

"I'm not sure if right now is the best time to mock me." Cas catches his eye and Sam knows with absolute certainty that he's a hairsbreadth from experiencing angelic smiting first hand.

He lowers his cereal bowl and holds up his hand. "You're right. I'm sorry." He shifts back a step and winces as shards of glass slice into the soles of his feet. The movement seems to bring Cas back to himself, and his expression softens.

"Oh. My apologies." He waves his hand and the mess disappears, coffeepot whole and full again. Sam feels the soft cold flow through him as Cas heals his cuts and burns. He sets his bowl aside and raises a hand to Cas's shoulder.

"Cas, what's wrong?"

Cas huffs a sigh and turns away. He curls in on himself, his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed, and mumbles an answer.

"Cas."

"I'm molting," Cas says too loudly. He turns to face Sam, his features hard. "It's painful and irritating and embarrassing and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Molting."

"My wings. I haven't molted in centuries, and never alone. And now, of course, when the only angel even remotely available is Metatron, they decide to fall apart." Cas finishes with a harsh sigh.

Sam takes a minute to think, takes a big breath, and says, "Okay. How can I help?"

"You? You can't. My wings don't exist on this plane. You can't see them, let alone touch them."

"What about another angel?"

"Well, excluding the ones who are actively trying to kill me, I doubt there would be any willing to help me. I'm not exactly popular at the moment." Cas arches his back, his forehead creasing as he stretches.

"Is there a way to bring them into this plane? To make them corporeal?"

Cas looks, really looks, at Sam's earnest expression. "You're serious."

Sam shrugs. "Well, yeah. I mean, if there's a spell or something that would work, I could help you."

Cas stares at him. "Why?"

"Because it seems like it's a pain in the ass, and you're my friend?" He shrugs again.

Cas pauses and Sam can almost hear the gears turning in his head. He blinks, decision made. "Don't tell Dean."

"I swear." Sam holds up his right hand.

Cas immediately turns and stomps out of the room. Sam finds him in the garage, his arms full of jars and bowls. A table, topped with more ingredients and necessary paraphernalia, appears next to him. "It's the only space big enough," he says by way of explanation. He mixes and measures while Sam looks on. Minutes pass, then Cas lights a match.

"Watch your eyes," he says, and makes sure Sam's eyes are covered before setting the spell ablaze. The fire burns green then blue then gold, then abruptly goes out. “You can look now.”

Sam blinks. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with his eyes.

Massive wings, indigo and violet and a black so deep he can’t comprehend. They stretch from one end of the room to the other and reach almost from floor to ceiling.

“Holy shit.” He says it without thinking, then checks himself. Cas, however, is unfazed if not a little proud at his reaction. “Cas, they’re beautiful.”

“Thank you, but they’re in shambles.” He shakes one and Sam watches a dozen feathers fall softly to the floor. The holes they leave are obvious when he really looks. Otherwise they are an undulating wave of the deepest colors he’s ever imagined.

Cas stretches both wings up to the ceiling and grunts at the effort. The sound brings Sam back to his purpose. “Tell me what to do.”

“You have to remove the old or damaged ones, so new ones can grow in.”

“How do I know what’s old or damaged?”

“You just have to comb through. They usually fall out on their own, with a little persuasion.”

“So, no pulling.”

“No!” Cas exclaims, then says softly, “Please don’t pull.”

“Gotcha. Anywhere in particular I need to start?”

“I usually work from the inside out, but it’s up to you.”

“Okay.” Sam nods and moves to stand right behind him. He takes a deep breath, and gingerly puts both hands into Cas’s feathers. They are simultaneously the softest thing he has ever touched and the most unyielding. The individual feathers are as rigid as steel, yet lighter than air. He removes a smaller down feather, no bigger than his palm, and holds it above his head. It floats for a moment before remembering that gravity is a thing, and slowly drifts to the floor.

Sam is a third of the way down one wing when a thought strikes him. “Hey Cas?”

“Yes?” He answers slowly.

“What happens to all the feathers when we reverse the spell? Do they go back to the other plane too?”

Cas shifts, his mouth curving in a small frown. “I don’t know. They shouldn’t, as the spell only affects my being, and that which is attached. Why?”

Sam shrugs and turns back to his task.

“You may keep them, if you would like.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. Angel feathers are useful in a number of spells. It would be a good opportunity to replenish the Bunker’s stores.”

“Sure,” Sam answers a moment too late. Cas doesn’t comment and Sam silently thanks him for it. He finishes the tip of the first wing and looks back at Cas. The floor between them is littered with feathers of varying sizes. “Did I get all of them on this side?”

“I believe so. Would you like to take a break before you move to the other one?”

Sam’s phone rings before he can answer, and Cas knows immediately that it’s Dean. “Sam, please…”

“I swear I won’t tell.” Sam smiles softly at him and answers the call.

“Dude. I can’t wait another week to kill this thing. It’s attacking people in broad daylight. Tell me there’s something I can do to… Contain it, or at least slow it down.”

“Um.” Sam looks to Cas, who offers nothing in the way of an answer.

“So glad I left you there doing research, Sammy. Thanks for the help.”

Sam takes a deep breath and lets it go in a rush. “I’ll look into it, Dean.”

“No, hey, wouldn’t want to interrupt your Netflix binge with actual people dying—”

Sam cuts off the call and looks at Cas, who shrugs. “Can’t ward the whole town.”

“But could they…”

“Like a demon trap?” Cas asks, his expression thoughtful.

Sam raises an eyebrow.

“Could work, with a few modifications.” Cas starts sketching a circle on a fresh piece of paper. Sam sends a picture to Dean, then calls him.

“Cas says you could trap it, hold it until you can kill it. Then, of course, you wouldn’t need that locator spell I just finished translating,” Sam says with a sigh.

“Awesome,” Dean says, and hangs up.

“Jerk,” Sam mutters as he sets his phone aside. He turns back to Cas in time to watch him sweeping the discarded feathers into a pile with the long flight feathers at the end of his wing.

“So,” he says and clears his throat, “ready to get started on the other side?”

“Whenever you are.” Cas gives him a stiff smile, the pain and irritation of the molt still written on his face.

“Yeah, sure.” He starts at Cas’s back, more sure of his movements now as he works his way down the wing. He strokes and gently tugs until his back is screaming and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to lift his arms again. He rakes his hands through the long flight feathers, one of the smaller ones coming away as he finishes. It’s not as wide as his palm, and maybe an inch longer, just able to cover his wrist. He lets it slowly sink to the floor then turns to face Cas.

“Did I get everything?”

“I believe so. For now. There will be more to remove in the coming days, but for now I can’t feel anything out of place.” He sighs, shifting slightly as if finally finding relief. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Of course.” Sam smiles and bends to start collecting the discarded feathers, grunting when his muscles protest.

Cas watches him for several minutes, his brow scrunched and his head tilted to the side. Sam feels the soft cold of grace moving through him, and the pain is his back eases.

“Thanks.” 

Cas just looks at him for a moment, then says, “Do these hold any significance to you?”

Sam straightens. “Well, you said they were useful, so yeah, I guess.”

“I meant personally. Do my feathers hold any significance to you personally?”

Sam clears his throat. “I mean, yeah, a little. They’re pretty cool, and they’re yours.”

“Because I’m your friend?”

Sam looks up and smiles at Cas’s expression. “Yeah, Cas. Because you’re my friend.”

“Then here.” He reaches back to the joint, to the short feathers tucked close to his body. He pulls two, one from the left and one from the right, and holds them out to Sam. “Take these. Those are dead, discarded. These are, well they’re not alive, but they are given freely. Much more powerful magic than those.”

“I… Wow… Thank you, Cas. This is…” Sam fumbles, overwhelmed.

“Yes, well, after everything you and your brother have done for me, it’s the least I can do.” Cas carefully turns to the table and begins the counter spell. “Stand back.”

Sam steps away, the two feathers clutched carefully in his hand. There’s an audible pop and a feeling of air rushing through the normally still room, and then Cas’s wings are gone. Immediately the feathers that are left behind begin to dull, their colors muting into grays and browns. Sam opens his hand and sucks in a breath. The feathers Cas pulled for him shimmer, turning from the deepest black to purple to green and back.

“They should keep their color for many years, and their magic for longer.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you. I’ll start cleaning up in here if you want to put them away, somewhere safe.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

~*~

Sam looks down at the small wooden box, the place he keeps all his treasures. He opens it, smiling at the picture of himself and Dean that’s sitting on top. There are bits and pieces, precious only to him, nestled among pictures and pocket knives. He sets the feathers on top and closes it up. He’ll give Dean his feather later, he decides as he slides the box into its hiding place.

~*~

He and Cas repeat the process three more times in the two weeks it takes Dean to trap and kill the monster. Each time, fewer feathers are discarded and each time, Sam can see new feathers growing in, filling the gaps and holes. The afternoon before Dean is expected home, Cas takes a test flight and returns with a wide grin on his face, declaring himself fully healed. They order pizza and Sam picks up a pie to celebrate. Dean doesn’t know what they’re celebrating, but he digs into the pie all the same.

~*~

Weeks later, Cas is off visiting Claire, Sam is digitizing the archive, and Dean is lost somewhere in a storeroom, presumably looking for something to help them track Metatron but probably looking for more antique porn. Sam doesn’t notice when he steps into the library until he clears his throat.

“Dude. What’s with the sneaking up on me?” Sam huffs at him and returns to his computer.

“What are these?” Dean’s voice is small and cold, sharp in a way that makes the hair stand up on the back of Sam’s neck.

He looks up and finally sees what is cradled in Dean’s hands: dozens of long dull feathers.

“They’re, um, angel feathers. Cas’s.”

“Why do we have hundreds of Cas’s feathers in the storeroom?” He speaks slowly, and Sam can’t meet his eyes.

“It’s because, um—”

“What did you do to Cas?” Dean explodes, and it’s only Sam’s reflexes that keep Dean from attacking him. He gets a chair between them, his hands up.

“I didn’t do anything to him, Dean. I swear. I wouldn’t hurt Cas.”

“Then what the hell is this?” He waves at the pile that’s slowly falling to the floor.

“He,” Sam starts, sucks in a breath, and tries again. “He didn’t want to tell you. He was embarrassed, I guess. Look, when you were out on that hunt with Jody, he started molting.”

“Molting?”

Sam lets his posture relax slightly at his brother’s confusion. “His wings, the feathers started falling out. So new ones could grow in. Only they didn’t just fall out. They got caught and he said it hurt and asked me to help.”

“Molting.”

Sam nods. “I helped him getting all the old feathers out. He told me to keep them, that we can use them in spells and stuff.”

“So they just fell out.”

“Yeah. Oh, except…”

“Except? Except what?” But Sam is already moving toward his room.

“Except,” he says as he returns, and opens the box, “these two. These he pulled, one from his right wing, one from the left. He said that they have more magic, that they’ll stay like this for a long time.” He hands Dean a feather and steps back.

Dean scrunches his brow and turns the feather over in his hand reverently. His eyes widen at the shift in color, and Sam can see his emotion burning his cheeks.

“He, um…” He sniffs. “He gave them to you?”

“I figure he meant for you to have one.”

Dean clears his throat, schools his expression. “Thanks, Sammy. For this and for helping him. And sorry about… all that.” He gestures to the feathers littering the end of the table and the floor.

“Yeah, no, I get it. I swore I wouldn’t tell.” He shrugs and Dean nods.

“I’m gonna go,” he says pointing toward his room, “and then I’ll…” He waves at the mess.

“Okay.” Sam gives him a lopsided grin. He closes his box and sets it aside. He gathers the feathers that have fallen to the floor and scoops up as many as he can from the table. He puts them away in the storeroom exactly where Dean found them, and goes to retrieve his box. As he walks past Dean’s door, he can’t help but overhear Dean on the phone.

“You coulda told me, buddy. No reason to be embarrassed about something like that… Yeah but Jody could’ve handled it, especially after we got that trap of yours… Well, thank you, for the feather… Okay, see you when you get home… Bye, Cas.”

Sam smiles to himself, and takes one more look at his feather before tucking the box away.

**Author's Note:**

> "Anil" refers to the shrub from which indigo (the dye) is derived.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://sweetasscaswrites.tumblr.com/post/141792177344/anil).


End file.
